Monday, February 29, 2016

I
heard the funeral procession go by in the morning, just before the sun tore
holes in the canopy of clouds and punctured us all with its searing gold rods
of light. I didn’t know the person who died and I wasn’t supposed to. I had
only moved to the neighborhood five days ago and knew not one thing beyond my
four mint-colored walls. Only when the music and the voices breached my pale
green box did I become aware of the outside world’s existence.

That
night there was music to signal the end of a three-day mourning period. The
sounds of a brass band seeped through my thick curtains and when I went outside
I found that the band was right down the alley beside my house. I watched
from a distance, standing near a graffiti-embellished tree.

Apparently in
Vietnam, when a person dies a band of musicians is hired to play
traditional funeral music for two days. The deceased person’s sons,
daughters, and daughters-in-law wear sheer white tunics and veils. The
tunics cover the whole body, like giant bridal veils, though they reminded me
more of the white burqas I saw in Pakistan. The deceased person’s other family
members wear mourning turbans, which are pieces of white clothes tied around
the head like a bandanna. Most people were wearing these.

When
I felt that I was lingering too long I began walking around the back alleys. I
looked up at the purple Saigon sky and could make out the dim lights of Orion.
So stars are visible in the city after all, I thought. The images I absorbed
walking through that alley after dark still haunt me. Those stoic
concrete walls, lit up in white light, with sky-purple draperies overheard, and
the faint sound of funeral music wafting through the air, potent as a
smell. A woman eating a bowl of noodles in her kitchen, her silhouette
framed by the edges of a glass-less window. Maybe these were the impressions
Graham Greene had when he wrote about Saigon. Though they look different in the
twenty-first century, they still exist.

Friday, February 26, 2016

Shubert carried me to Bar
Harbor but Chopin lead me through the shaded roads of Acadia. Listening to
their music in the car reminded me of the phases I went through with each of
the classical composers as I was "discovering" them. My Schubert phase, my
Chopin phase. My Dvorak phase.

On
the road I alsopassed a pumpkin patch with bright orange pumpkins, surely a
sign of fall. Up this far the leaves have begun to change and I could see
hints of yellow and red in the green trees lining the road.

Yesterday before leaving
Acadia I got to visit Bass Harbor and see one last lighthouse. I continue to be
intrigued by the rhythmic sound of the ocean here. The waves don’t come in tempos, but instead
are an unending sloshing against the
rocky shoreline. There is no break in the melody, no pause, no breath, only a
constant pulsing. In the distance I could hear a
bell, not sure what it was for, I called it sea chimes.

The strange thing about
traveling alone is that after the journey is over, it feels as though it never happened. Maybe when I see my friends again I won’t know what to tell them. Maybe
I’ll tell them about all the conversations I overheard, and the ones I was a
part of. It seems like no one was particularly interested in hearing my story,
but was overflowing with the desire to tell me theirs. I might have learned
more about other people on this trip than I learned about myself. On that note, I
just read an interesting quote from Murakami’s first novel, Hear the Wind Sing, “Civilization is
communication. That which is not expressed doesn’t exist.” So if I don’t write
about this trip, if I don’t tell anyone about it, then it might as well have
never happened...

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Phnom Penh has apparently changed quiet a lot in the last
few years, and most of the cafes I frequented seemed relatively new.

Foreign Correspondents Club

The Foreign Correspondents Club is by far the oldest and
most prestigious establishment among this café list. Althgouh it is no longer
an exclusive club, the atmosphere can be enjoyed restaurant or lounge. I
enjoyed sitting by the window sipping a coffee and watching traffic go by along
the river. And I did evesdrop on a conversation between two journalists! How
cliché!

Java House

Jave House is also a Phnom Penh classic and a place that
everyone should visit. I ordered a filet mignon with brie cheese sauce, and
sautéed potatoes for USD $6. Incredible. The ice teas were also excellent.

Sisco

Sisco is a new café that seemed to still be learning the
ropes. It was being remodeled when I visited, but the staff were friendly and
the drinks and donut were great. Nice views from the second floor.

Mojo

Mojo is a brand new café with a nightclub atmosphere. I
loved going in the day and sitting by the window. At night, the place can get
rather dark with the all-black interior. Food and drink were excellent and
cheap. I recommend the Pad Thai!

Brown

Brown Coffee is a local chain and ended up being my favorite
place to work. Reliable wifi, delicious pastries, and the best Iced Coffee with
Condensed Milk that I had in Cambodia, where just some of the reasons I kept
returning.

Gong Cha

Gong Cha is a Taiwanese Bubble Tea chain. I usually don’t go
to bubble tea cafes when I want to write, but I found Gong Cha’s Phnom Penh
branch surprisingly atmospheric.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

I’ve been up since 4:30 am and I love
this place. Two things that haven’t been true in a while. I’m sweating, stinky,
sticky, and wearing my worst clothes and I am still happy. What a difference
leaving Phnom Penh made. I really thought I would like that city but I didn’t.
It was suffocating and dull. I was worried that I may hate Siem Reap too, since
I knew it would be a tourist town - a place where the entire economy revolves
around tourism. But unlike Luang Prabang or Hoi An or Bagan, Siem Reap is
actually a really chill place. It’s actually a livable place. It is clean,
well-lit, and has sidewalks. There is a healthy population of ex-pats and even
the locals seem savvy. The roads here are the most developed I have seen in
Cambodia by far.

When I rode the bus into Siem Reap, all I could see were whole villages eaten alive by dirt. Anything that
couldn’t move fast enough was covered in it. Trees, bark and leaves. Umbrellas,
whole houses, gates, car parts, and things forgotten. Everything cloaked in
dirt. Dirt would cover even shadows if
it could cling to them. It was as if the entire landscape was made of iron, and
it had rusted over and was not a reddish orange.

I was disgusted by that parched
landscape, as if the earth were gasping for water with dry dust-coated lungs. I
started to think Siem Reap would look like this. Why not? This was the only
scene after miles and miles of countryside. But somehow when we entered the
city the scene changed drastically, especially when I dismounted the bus and
road a tuktuk into town. Suddenly I found myself in a dense forest. The air
was cool and tall thin trees shaded everything beneath them. There greenery as
far as the neck could bend. The sun was hidden behind the tree-fringed horizon.
I could have been in Portland, or Shimane. I could have been home. I needed
that shade and those trees like the earth needs to breath. I needed to not see
a landscape conquered by dirt. I needed something lush and beautiful.

I woke up this morning joyously, and
savored the cool dark ride in the tuktuk this morning. When we found droves of
people by the lake waiting to take the perfect photo for sunrise, we walked to
the eastern gate and waited on the stoop for the sun to rise. There were no
dramatic colors in the sky today. It was a cool, pale, slow lightening. I left
at 6:45 am and still no sight of the sun. But when I walked back to the west
gate of Angkor Wat, I saw the sun some up a a ferocious speed, as if hurrying
to make up for lost time. It was glowing red, the same color as the dirt of the
land. I had a few quiet hours in the
temples by myself, and it didn’t become bitterly hot until around
11:00. By then the tourists were packing
into the narrow stone corridors and it became impossible to enjoy anything,
much less photograph it. So I left around 12:00 and opted to spend the
afternoon indoors at a cafe, which I am enjoying. The atmosphere of the cafes
we have been to has not impressed me, but the wifi is fast, the drinks are
decent, and no one seems to mind how long we have been here, so I’m not
complaining. I wish I had more time in Siem Reap.